


Reunion

by ahh_fuck



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Brotherly Love, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Scent Kink, Scenting, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:13:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27086128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahh_fuck/pseuds/ahh_fuck
Summary: This is a bit of fluffy smut inspired by an ask on Tumblr by user @geraltsays: "i was thinking about geralt & eskel and how when they cross each other on the path, they spend time together. eating and sleeping together side by side. and more specifically i was reflecting about the parallels and differences of them now vs them as young boys and it makes me go ahhhh"
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 9
Kudos: 120





	Reunion

Geralt catches the scent long before he hears the footsteps in the forest. By the time the man in a red gambeson and long dark cloak emerges from the forest leading a horse, Geralt has cleared an extra place by the fire. Next to it, there is a cloth set out with dry cheese, hard bread, and some withered apples. On the fire itself is simmering a little pot of broth, fragrant with herbs.

When he steps into the clearing, Geralt looks up at last into golden eyes, warm and soft as honey. Eskel is finally here.

“Hey, Wolf.” Eskel greets him.

Geralt grins, nods to the spot next to him. Then, heart already thawing as if after a long winter, he returns to the task of caring for his blade.

A small smile pulls at Eskel's scarred face, lighting it handsomely. Turning away, he gently murmurs to his horse as he begins to unpack and groom her.

Content, Geralt returns to sharpening and oiling his blades by the fire. He barely looks up when Eskel settles at his side. Without a word Eskel places a full wine skin on the cloth. This is followed by a packet of waxed paper that turns out to contain slightly smooshed sweet nut cakes.

Geralt gives his blade a keen, considering look, gives it one last swipe with his polishing cloth, then sheathes it. Only then does he turn his full attention to Eskel crouched companionably at his side. A rush of warmth goes through Geralt as he sees Eskel smile again, one eyebrow going up.

“Brother.” Geralt growls, reaching over and pulling Eskel into a tight hug. “You’re alive.”

A deep, dark chuckle shakes Eskel as he embraces Geralt fiercely back. “Good to see you too.” The greeting is almost as old as they are, old as their long years on the path. When they first ventured out of Kaer Morhen, the Path had led them away from one another.

Each of them had dealt with it in his own way. Geralt had packed his heart in a box, certain that he would never see his beloved brother again. Eskel, on the other hand, was certain that Geralt was always around the next corner, always waiting to be rediscovered.

So far, Eskel had been the one who was right.

Geralt rumbles happily as he noses into the soft spot behind Eskel’s ear, a galaxy of scent unfurling as he snuffles the sweet-smelling skin. Blood, steel, horse, leather, crushed vegetation, the scents of travel fade away until all he can smell is Eskel himself, warm baked bread and ripe apples in sunlight, a homey, comforting smell.

Affectionately, Geralt nips at the skin of Eskel’s neck. His brother laughs and paws him away. Geralt smiles at him, eyes dancing in the firelight. When they were boys, they had to hide their affection in rough-and-tumble play to avoid their instructors’ wrath. Now, here in the forest, they are free to take their ease. Eskel smiles like he knows what Geralt is remembering, bringing his hand up to cup Geralt’s cheek. They lean together, moving as one person. When their lips finally touch, all the months since they’ve last seen each other feel as if they are wiped away and they are home again.

Home has never been a place. It was never cold Kaer Morhen, ancient stones soaked in blood. There were no welcoming places on the Path to settle. No, home is embracing arms and honey colored eyes. It is crooked smiles and wicked in-jokes with ninety-year histories. It’s naked legs tangled together under spread cloaks. Acceptance, companionship, _kindness_.

When they part, Eskel’s eyes gleam happily. He strokes his fingers through Geralt’s white hair, thumbs the delicate shell of his ear, drinking him in. Geralt hums and lets out a deep sigh, face softening as Eskel tickles the back of his neck with a gentle touch. Turning his head, he catches Eskel’s hand in his own and kisses his scarred palm.

Eskel chuckles. He leans back from Geralt, turning and picking up one of the sticky nut cakes and offering it to him. Geralt takes it with a crooked smile. It’s sticky, and Eskel’s fingertips are covered in honey. Eskel sticks his fingers thoughtlessly into his mouth, sucking the sweetness off of them. Then he swipes the wine skin and uncorks it, taking a swig.

Geralt takes a bite of the sweet cake, a low rumble of pleasure escaping him. He doesn’t indulge in sweet treats very often. Better that Roach have good feed and his armor be in good repair. Eskel was a little more indulgent, especially when it came to treats shared with his brother. Treats and sweets hadn’t featured large in their upbringing, and any rare delicacies were usually hoarded and wolfed down before any other boys could steal them.

Geralt can remember treasured moments when Eskel would sneak into his bed at night with sticky hands, sharing a hoarded bit of honeycomb under the blankets, whispering and giggling. Small escapes into the forest surrounding Kaer Morhen, sharing handfuls of ripe berries with Eskel instead of foraging eyebright and yarrow.

Even all these years later, the little indulgence of sweet cakes feels stolen and special, a secret shared between the two of them. They’ve been told their whole adult lives that Witchers don’t deserve goodness and solace, inhuman as they are. How delightful, then, to indulge in warmth and happiness shared between the two of them. 

The shared meal, paltry though it is, fills them heart and soul. It is eaten in companionship, banishing the lonely cold of the road from their beings. As they eat, they catch up, the cadence of their conversation easy and full of love. Who else could understand?

They had trained together, wept together, shivered together under the thin blankets meant to harden them to physical privation. When the trials had rendered them ill and helpless, they had snuck in to hold one another. Geralt remembers the soft sound of Eskel’s small voice in his ear, whispering him back from death’s door.

His voice is deep now, rich and warm. Eskel thinks he’s ugly, but Geralt knows he is beautiful. His dark hair is silky soft in Geralt’s fingers as he runs his hands through it, his honey-colored eyes are kind and full of love. When Geralt undresses him, his big, scarred body is a feast. He is heavier-set than Geralt, powerful muscles and big bones. The summer has been good to him, and he has a layer of fat that softens the curves of his fine form. Geralt lays him back on their bedrolls, taking his time to cherish every inch of him.

As children, they would check each other over for new injuries, providing small comfort where they could. Melitele knew their instructors wouldn’t, not unless the injury threatened their lives. They knew each other’s bodies like their own, had memorized every scar, every crease. As adolescents, their explorations had become more intimate, more passionate.

Now, Geralt worships at the altar of Eskel’s body, savoring the rich and varied scents of his loved one as he explores Eskel’s sensitive places. He nibbles the backs of his knees, grazes his teeth over the sensitive knobs of his ankles. Purring, he tastes the silky inner skin of his thighs and playfully worries at the inviting roll of fat over his hip. Each playful bite, each lick, each nibble makes the subtle fruity smell of Eskel’s arousal more potent.

Geralt licks delicately along Eskel’s neck, breathes hotly against his ear, dipping his hips to brush their cocks together. Eskel pulls him down with an appreciative growl, locking his hands around Geralt’s hips and rocking up against him. Geralt growls back, turning to plunder Eskel’s mouth with a hungry kiss. They slide gently against one another, savoring the delicious heat of finally being together again.

They curl and twist together, rolling back and forth across their bedrolls, across their spread cloaks, rumpling the fabric. Their hands are slow at first as they savor each other, but soon they are gripping each other, hips snapping together, soft huffs and growls escaping them. Eskel, fingers slick from the little bowl set out by their bedrolls, rolls. He pins Geralt gently with one leg over his shoulder and presses into him, gentle but eager.

Geralt takes his fingers easily, one at first, then two. Eskel’s thick fingers crook and he arches, letting out a soft snarl. Little stars burst behind his eyes and he grinds down into those fingers, barely even noticing when Eskel eases a third in. The world narrows down to the blinding urgency of wanting Eskel inside of him, wanting to feel filled to the bursting with his beloved brother.

Geralt flips Eskel gently over and pushes him back to the bedroll again, slicking Eskel’s cock generously. Eskel stretches and lays out beneath him with a lazy smile, savoring the sight of his Wolf so hungry to ride him. Geralt kneels over him, easing down over his generous girth, his yellow eyes rolling back in his head.

A groan escapes them both as Geralt bottoms out, eyes rolling back in his head as he feels the fullness of Eskel’s thick cock deep inside of him. Eskel grabs his hips and holds him still there. This is one of his favorite moments, the feeling of being pressed so fully into his lover’s body after such long separation. It’s the feeling of connection before they begin to fuck in earnest, that key-sliding-into-a-lock certainty of _home._ When they finally begin to move together, easing into an age-old rhythm, the rightness of it sinks into their bones.

Geralt rides atop of Eskel, full to the point of aching as he impales himself with each little rock of his hips. Eskel moves gently beneath him, lazily easing Geralt up and down along his cock until they are both trembling with the slow pace. He feels Geralt begin to strain against his hands, aching to ride him harder. Eskel grins, keeping the pace slow for as long as he can stand, but eventually, even he can’t wait anymore. He eases his grip on Geralt’s hips and pulls his big Wolf towards him, grinding hard into his slick heat.

Geralt gasps and begins to fuck himself in earnest, locking eyes with Eskel as he does so. He pries Eskel’s hands off of his hips and lifts them over his head, twining their fingers together. Eskel grins fondly, eyes hazy with lust and pleasure. Geralt grins breathlessly back, loving the sight of Eskel blissful beneath him.

They come unglued in each other’s arms, fucking until Eskel’s stomach is slick with Geralt’s pre-come, until their hair is plastered to their skin with sweat, until they can’t suppress their panting groans any longer. Finally, Eskel sets his heels against the ground and shifts the angle of his hips. He knows he’s got it right because Geralt’s voice breaks mid-growl, cracking and becoming breathless.

Eskel curses happily as he sets a pace that makes Geralt’s eyes roll back in his head, makes the muscles in his thighs jump and tremble. He fucks Geralt until he’s crying incoherently into the forest, fucks him until he’s dripping sweat and tears, fucks him until he comes riotously on Eskel’s cock, roaring helplessly into the deepening night.

The absolutely wrecked look on Geralt’s face is what finally does Eskel in. He squeezes Geralt’s hands in his own, arching and twisting beneath him as his own potent pleasure builds. When he explodes, Eskel throws his head back and jams his hips hard against Geralt’s, burying himself deep as he comes.

Geralt cries out, feeling hot rushes as Eskel’s thick come fills him. Eskel strains beneath him, hips jerking and trembling as the pleasure peaks. When it slowly recedes, they sink trembling to the tangled fabric beneath them. Eskel awkwardly paws at one of the cloaks, freeing it and draping it over Geralt’s sweaty back. Geralt curls around Eskel, pleased by the thoughtful gesture, allowing his head to come to rest on his brother’s shoulder.

They twine together beneath the cloak, sweat cooling, pounding hearts beginning to slow. Around them, the forest hums and whispers with quiet life, trees shivering in breezes and tiny animals skittering amongst the undergrowth. They’ve laid like this a hundred times, more, pressed heartbeat to heartbeat as a campfire crackles nearby.

It might not be possible to travel together for long. The Path is a harsh life, and even in fat summers like this one the pay for two Witchers together is sparse. Townspeople wouldn’t always welcome two of them, and it wouldn’t be long before they’d have to part ways to keep their purses fat enough to make it through til winter. But for now, that doesn’t matter. Their bellies are full, the summer night is warm, and they have one another. Everything else could wait.


End file.
